


Black Ice: The New Al Capone

by SteveTrevorsStarship



Series: RoyEd OTPoly 2020 [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chicken Fight, Drinking, Ed is a bodyguard, Fluff and Crack, I watched Blackfish today, M/M, Roy is the president, Snow, Wrenches, im so sorry this exists, so an orca is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteveTrevorsStarship/pseuds/SteveTrevorsStarship
Summary: “Please delete that video,” Roy begs.“Are you kidding me, Roy?” Maes grins, sliding his butt onto Roy’s brand new shiny presidential desk. “This is comedy gold. You’re dancing and everything! Should I show this at your wedding?”“Wed–? We just started dating! Actually, we haven’t even had a real date.”
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: RoyEd OTPoly 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813930
Comments: 7
Kudos: 139
Collections: RoyEd OTPoly 2020





	Black Ice: The New Al Capone

**Author's Note:**

> look... the humor is a bit meh but that's okay because we have fun cheese nugg stories to share, like for example,,,
> 
> in my sophomore year a guy gave me a giant teddy bear for valentines day and a bag of donuts so obviously me, not knowing how to deal with emotions or rejecting ppl, MADE HIM CARRY AROUND THE TEDDY BEAR ALL DAY but ate the donuts and rejected him at the end of the day. Anyways, everybody likes to say Im an emotionless bean because of that and I wouldn't know what romance was if it hit her but YALL IM PRETTY SURE I GOT THESE BOYS DOWN THEYRE CUTE SO HAH YALL CAN GO TELL EVERYONE I DO HAVE SOME SAP IN ME *cries* just because I cant feel love doesn't mean I cant imprint on people that do 
> 
> Prompt: Roy and/or Ed are drunk off their asses. Word count: 362-764
> 
> House level: One of them tries to do something stupid and hurts himself in the process. Choose either: Crack or hurt/comfort. Word count: 977-2584
> 
> Hotel level: Someone was filming the whole thing. The drunk party/ies later discover the tape. Max: 3972
> 
> I did hotel ^.^

Roy startles when he hears the door to his office slam open, but doesn’t look up. Instead, he just groans and buries his head deeper into his arms.

“Good morning, Mr. President!” Maes says much, _much_ too loudly. Roy responds in a series of unintelligible grunts and his friend just laughs. “Did you have a good time at the inauguration party last night?”

“Stop talking so loud,” Roy says, though he’s almost positive his voice is muffled by the desk. 

“I heard you and Edward got into the Tequila!”

Roy just groans again.

“Anyway, I thought you would like to see some pictures of Elicia for your first day of being President! A little something from your adorable niece to motivate you.”

Roy lifts his head to glare at Hughes in that _please stop shoving photos of your daughter in my face_ way he seems to have mastered, but instead Maes has his phone right in front of Roy’s face.

Roy squints at the thumbnail of the video, trying to figure out what the hell is happening before the memories come rushing back in and he realizes– 

“No,” Roy begs, “Maes, please, no.”

Maes Hughes, a father and a doting husband, cackles like a witch on All Hallow’s Eve. Roy cannot help but be astonished in this moment– this man has a _child._ He is a _father_. What the hell was Gracia thinking? “Oh, _yes._ ” 

Roy lets his head fall onto the table with a solid _thunk._

. . .

“Hey, bastard!” Ed calls from the other end of Madame Christmas’ bar. Roy waves and shifts through the crowd of people to make his way over to him. When he finally arrives, Ed gives him a beatific smile and says, “So, what’s it feel like?” 

Roy cocks his head and grins. “How would you imagine ruling a very large country feels like?” 

“Like you’re getting old and your bones are all creaky and shit,” Ed teases. “I think I owe you some money, old man.”

Roy raises his eyebrow in surprise. “Are you actually going to pay it back?”

Ed reaches into his pocket. When he lifts his hand it holds a bunch of coins that Roy assumes to be 520 cenz. He drops it into Roy’s outstretched hand and huffs. “I’m not _that_ cheap.” 

“Ah, yes, you’re right. I must have mistaken you for Breda,” Roy says thoughtfully, pocketing the money. “He won’t buy me a beer.” 

Somewhere behind them, Heymans Breda shouts, “You’re under a democracy, Mustang! You can’t order me to do shit!”

“Is a beer really too much to ask?” Roy scoffs while the rest of the bar erupts into laughter. 

“It is if you’re asking Breda. Other than him, though, you’ve got a good crowd here,” Ed observes from the bar, nodding towards where Hawkeye and Miles are arguing sternly (Roy calls it flirting; Riza doesn’t appreciate it but never denies it). The rest of the bar is filled with other friends and supporters throughout the years: Alex Armstrong, Dr. Marcoh, even Olivier Armstrong. It’s all people he’s grown to be comfortable around– barring Olivier, of course. Roy is still half-convinced she wants to cut off his dick and feed it to an Orca. 

“Yes, I even think I’ll be able to go the whole night without an assassination attempt. Wouldn’t that be fun?” 

Ed snorts. “In that case, how about a beer?” 

. . .

Somehow, a beer translated to Tequila shots, which Roy hadn’t had since before Basic Training. And to be honest, his alcohol tolerance had never been all that high, even when he’d been seventeen and partying on Jello Shots with Riza. 

Long story short, he got drunk. 

The feeling has never been altogether pleasant for him. His eyes feel dizzy (which makes no sense– _how can eyes be dizzy?_ ) and his smile feels like it slips out a lot more than it should be, considering he’s a politician who is supposed to keep track of his emotions and all that other “stoic bastard bullshit,” as Ed liked to call it.

Come to think of it, the constant smiling may have something to do with Ed’s constant presence. 

The other thing about being drunk is the warmth that spreads from his stomach to his toes, which is also a side effect of being around Ed.

Whatever it is, the alcohol or Ed, Roy is very happy. 

“I can’t believe your fancy words are still workin’ when you’re drunk,” Ed slurs from his seat next to Roy. By now, the bar has been mostly emptied out of Roy’s friends and co-workers, though the other Elric, Maes, Gracia, and Winry remain. 

“I can’t believe your accent can get worse than it already is,” Roy retorts. 

“I don’t have an accent!” Ed argues fruitlessly, seeing as his slurring words give way to the Southern-origin accent. 

“That’s an accent.”

Ed leaps from his chair to tackle Roy to the ground. A drunk Ed is an easily provoked Ed. “I’ll show you an accent, you crusty old man–” 

Before he can reach Roy, Alphonse catches him in his trajectory. “Please don’t attack the President, brother,” he says tiredly. 

“I told you I wanted to go the whole night without another assassination,” Roy provides helpfully. 

“Fine,” Ed mumbles, sitting back down in his chair, “but I still don’t have an accent.” 

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t! Tell him, Al.”

“I’m too young to be the mediator between two children,” Al says. 

“WHO ARE YOU CALLIN’ SMALL, YOU–” 

Next to them, Winry slams her glass on the table. “I know just how to settle this!” She slurs, her hair whipping around as she looks at them and gives them her grin. Roy has never really told Ed this, but he finds Winry terrifying. Not as terrifying as Riza, of course, but scary blonde women do tend to make their presence in his life known, and he’s waiting for the day Winry Rockbell knocks him out with a wrench for some imagined slight against Ed. 

She doesn’t seem to finish her thought, so Ed looks at her warily. “How?” 

“Hm? Oh, yeah– CHICKEN FIGHT!” She yells, startling Roy as she pulls a wrench out of her pocket. 

“Please put the wrench away Winry,” Al begs. Roy wonders if he questions his relation to Edward. He’s so polite, after all, and if it weren’t for the identical eyes Roy would have done a test to make sure they were actually brothers. 

Winry slams her wrench on the table and Roy winces. Madame Christmas is going to eat her for dinner. “Chicken fight! Whoever wins has to concede the other’s point. What were you arguing about again?” 

Roy frowns. “Would any of you be able to hold me?”

Al sighs. “Maybe that isn’t the best idea, Winry.”

“It’s an amazing idea! I get on Mustang’s shoulders to fight for him because nobody is going to be able to hold him– no offense–” 

“None taken.”

“– And Ed gets on Al’s shoulders!”

“I am not a willing participant in this,” Al cuts in.

“You’re my brother,” Ed argues, “you have to help defend my honor.”

“We don’t have a pool,” Al says. “You can’t chicken fight without a pool.”

“Yes, you can. It just hurts more this way,” Winry tells him, smiling like a she-demon. Roy truly is terrified of her. 

“Oh dear,” Al says.

“I like this idea. This way, I get to beat Winry _and_ Colonel Bastard at the same time.” 

“I’m not a Colonel anymore.”

“Are we going to ignore the fact we don’t have a pool?” Al asks, exasperated. 

“It’s better without one!” Winry squeals and Roy prays for the continued existence of his eardrums. 

“You’re going to get hurt,” Al argues. 

“That’s the point.” Ed grins. “I don’t even remember what I was fighting with Colonel Bastard about–”

“I’m not a Colonel anymore.”

“–But I like sketchy games that end in minor injuries.”

“You’re not Chicken Fighting in my bar, adopted son or not,” Madame Christmas says, flipping a dish towel over her shoulder and giving Roy the _look._

“Yes ma’am,” Roy says immediately. 

“You’re fuckin’ weird President Bastard, y’know that?” Ed asks, frowning at Roy. “Spent how many years on the front lines and you’re still scared shitless of your Aunt?”

“I also feared the sheer power and intelligence of a fifteen-year-old boy a few years ago, if you remember correctly.” Roy stands and finishes the last of his beer (though he does think maybe he should have cut himself off a few hours ago; the ground looks suspiciously wavy). He shrugs on his jacket and then helps Ed into his own beige trench coat. 

“Yeah but that’s because I blew shit up. And even then you gave me shit.” 

“Mhmm,” Roy responds. It truly isn’t mean to sound sarcastic, he just doesn’t have a response.

“Don’t fuckin’ mock me.”

“I’m not,” Roy says defensively. 

“Yes, you fuckin’ are. Fuck you,” Ed slurs. Roy laughs. 

“Goodnight, everybody,” he says, waving a hand to Madame Christmas, the Elric Brothers, Winry, Gracia, and Maes.

“No Chicken Fight?” Winry whines.

“No Chicken Fight,” Ed and Al respond at the same time, while Ed follows it with, “sadly.” Roy snorts. 

“If I get a pool with the new job, we can Chicken Fight.”

“Besides,” Ed says, “I gotta walk President Stupid Idiot home. We’re trying to go a whole day without an assassination attempt.”

“My bodyguard is so dedicated to his work,” Roy sighs. “If only you could do that every day.”

“Fuck you and your stupidness. It’s not my fault everybody hates you. Bye, Al!” Ed calls as he takes Roy by the hand and drags him out of the bar.

Roy stares down at Ed’s hand clasped around his and takes a deep breath. He follows Ed’s lead, not even looking where they’re going, just looking at Ed’s hand. About ten minutes pass on the way home before finally, he blurts out, “I don’t want to go home.”

Ed turns around to look at him and blinks. “Where do you want to go?”

Roy thinks for a moment. He doesn’t really want this night to end, despite the constant swimming of the floor and the feeling that his eyes are moving too rapidly for his brain. His brain to mouth filter is still working, so he thinks he’s safe from spitting out anything along the lines of _I’m hopelessly in love with you_ unless Ed lets down his hair from the ponytail it’s in, in which case all bets are off and the odds of Roy giving up every single one of his inhibitions and pinning Ed against the wall are significantly higher than usual. 

“Central Park,” Roy says. “Let’s go walk around the park.”

“Okay.” Ed smiles up at Roy and starts leading them to the Park, and thank God for that because Roy isn’t entirely sure he can walk straight. His hand is still wrapped around Roy’s and Roy’s brain is still saying, _What a beautiful night, perhaps you should have brought him flowers and chocolates._

When they arrive, Roy laughs at the sight of the fairy lights set up around the park. The park itself is sparse– next to no one is there. But the fairy lights still light the path to the fountain and around the trees, even with a large amount of snow hanging from the branches and filling the otherwise emptied fountain. 

“How drunk are you?” Ed asks. Roy looks toward him to find him looking at Roy with a small smile on his face. Roy smiles back, hoping it doesn’t look as soft and gooey as it feels.

“I'm almost positive I could balance on the edge of the fountain without falling.”

“Alright,” Ed says, “Try it. I'd like to see you fall.”

Roy grins and starts walking toward the fountain. “Why don’t you seem as drunk?” 

“The cold sobered me up,” Ed says, “and you drank a lot more than me.”

“Rude,” Roy teases. “Don’t you know it’s polite to match your drinking pace to your host’s?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the hostess, not the host. But I guess it still applies to you, seeing as you lost all your masculinity when you were raised by a bunch of women in a Brothel.”

“Please,” Roy scoffs, “who needs masculinity when you can be taught perfect makeup by a Xingese Prostitute?”

“Are you going to walk on the fountain or not?” Ed laughs, the cold making his cheeks rosy. 

“Only if you do it with me,” Roy responds with a huge grin, grabbing both of Ed’s hands and pulling him toward the fountain. 

“You’re such a dork,” Ed says, the smile still playing on his face. “Who even let you be President?”

“More than half the Amestrian population, I’ll have you know.” Roy steps onto the fountain and waits for Ed to follow, carefully not commenting on how much harder it is for him because his legs are shorter. “Don’t push me off, please.”

Ed snorts. “If I get charged with your murder, trust me, it’ll be on purpose.”

“It’s nice to know you enjoy my company so much,” Roy says dryly. 

“You’re a politician, you need to be told the truth every once in a while. It’s good for your soul.”

“What were we doing on the fountain again?” Roy asks, tilting his head at Ed. “Dancing?”

“If you make me fucking dance, I swear–” 

Roy’s grin grows even wider as he gets a _wonderful_ idea. “You’re a country bumpkin, right? So you must know–”

“Oh, don’t you fuckin’ dare–” 

“I _f it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eyed Joe_ –” 

“I fuckin’ hate that song–”

“ _I’d been married a long time ago,_ ” Roy sings, his throat rough. He starts doing the dance, though it’s wildly uncoordinated and the lack of room on the fountain forbids him from spinning too fast. “ _Where did you come from where did you go? Where did you come from Cotton-Eyed Joe?_ ”

“I fucking hate you,” Ed says, but his eyes are laughing and the tips of his mouth are turned upward. 

Roy wants to see his smile again, so he tells him, “You have to do the dance, too!” 

Ed sighs but acquiesces. “I’m only doing this because I can’t wait for you to spin and fall on your fuckin’ ass.” 

“Also because this way you get the permanent blackmail of knowing I danced on a fountain to _Cotton-Eyed Joe_ in my own head.”

“The President of Amestris,” Ed says. “An absolute dork.”

“I’m a cute– shit!” Roy cusses as his boots slip on a patch of ice on the fountain. His other foot attempts to find purchase but instead, that one slips, too. He sees Ed step forward and grab his arm, but then his foot slips on the same ice and Roy has only a moment to think, _dammit, Ed!_ Before they’re both falling to the ground. 

Roy groans in pain and looks down at Ed, who has miraculously landed on top of him. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Ed frowns, “I was trained for armed assassins, not black ice.” 

“Are you okay?” Roy asks, looking over him for any injuries. 

“I’m fine. Are you? You took most of the fall.”

“I don’t think anything is broken,” Roy says softly, pushing a lock of Ed’s hair behind his ear and locking eyes with him. 

The moment is so cheesy, he’s almost sure Ed hates the timing, but– 

He pulls Ed’s head down and kisses with as much force as his tired bones can muster. Ed responds, moving his mouth against his own, before– 

Before shoving a handful of snow down the front of Roy’s shirt. 

Roy yelps. “Mother f–” Ed covers his mouth with his own again, successfully muffling his shout. His mouth is curved into a smile against Roy’s and his body is shaking with silent laughter.

“You’re the President of Amestris, don’t you think you’re a little distinguished to be making out on the ground?” he asks once he’s moved away from Roy’s mouth again. 

Roy scowls playfully. “Let me have my scandal.”

Ed rolls his eyes and leans in for another kiss.

. . .

The next morning, the sunlight filters in through the window. Roy’s alarm on his phone rings, waking him up from his mostly alcohol-induced sleep. He uses one arm to dismiss it then returns to his position on the bed.

In his arms, Ed stirs. Roy grins as Ed turns around to blink up at him, the blankets surrounding him up to his ears. 

“ ‘s too cold,” Ed says.

Roy snuggles closer to him, slotting his head above Ed’s and pulling him in tighter against him. “I have to go to work.” 

Ed grunts. “That means I do, too.”

“Maybe you can take the day off.” Roy feels Ed pulls the covers completely over his head and bury himself in Roy’s chest.

“I can’t, you’ll die. Your longest-running streak without an assassination attempt is one day.”

Roy hums. "You could always just let me die.”

“No, you’re my new food provider.”

“Good to know you think so much of me,” he says dryly.

In the end, he makes Ed breakfast, anyways.

. . .

“Please delete that video,” Roy begs. 

“Are you kidding me, Roy?” Maes grins, sliding his butt onto Roy’s brand new shiny _presidential_ desk. “This is comedy gold. You’re dancing and everything! Should I show this at your wedding?”

“Wed–? We just started dating! Actually, we haven’t even had a real date.” 

“You’re right, maybe you should wait to get married until after your presidential term is done. You have a lot to do, after all.”

“If only you would get out of my office.”

“I wish I could, Roy, but I just _love_ the look on your face right now. Besides, isn’t the first day of the Presidency like the first day of school? All they do is go over the syllabus and you meet some new people then you go home?”

Roy ignores him, still staring at the video on Maes’ phone. “Where the hell were you when you filmed this, anyway?”

“Gracia and I followed you guys to make sure you weren’t going to get jumped or anything. You both were very drunk when you left, it’s no wonder you didn’t notice us.”

“ _Gracia was in on this?_ ”

“Are you kidding me? She’s the one filming.”

Roy slams his head on the table again. Maes pats him on the back and laughs harder.

**Author's Note:**

> i just realized ed calls roy crusty in this and I'm so happy with that decision it negates every other bad decision made during this fic.
> 
> this is very unedited. I'll get to it when... um. I'll get to it. 
> 
> also if you find the john mulaney quote you get a cookie, and 5 points to Hufflepuff because they are the Superior House. and LOOK AT AALL THIS FLUFF AND CRACK! maybe next prompt I'll be able to kill someone and make people cry.


End file.
